


Fingers

by orphan_account



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gatlocke finds himself transfixed by Caesar's hands.
Relationships: Gatlocke/Caesar Salazar
Kudos: 14





	Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy. Please take care of yourselves in light of everything happening out there right now! 
> 
> -quixotic

He watched Caesar’s hands.

Long fingers methodically stripped wire of its rubber casing, pulling the copper free from inside. The utility knife glided gently through rubber while his free hand rolled the wire across his work surface so that the blade scored the sheath entirely. Each time he finished, he would inspect the wire for damage before setting the cable into a bucket and beginning with a new one. Gatlocke sighed, resting his chin onto the surface of the lab table he was seated at. 

What lucky wire sheaths they were to be held and gutted by him.

“Are you okay, Querido?” Caesar laughed at him, his hands never pausing once as he spoke. “You have been sighing that way for an hour.”

“Bored…” 

“You know, you do not have to stay.” 

“I never have to do anything.” He retorted, blinking up at him. “What is it you’re doing anyway? Haven’t they got machines to do that for you?” 

“Well, yes.” Caesar acknowledged. “But I had no need for one before, so I don’t have one on hand at the moment.”

“You ought to invest in one. Might free your hands up for better things.” Gatlocke picked his head up from the table and propped it up with his palm. He continued to watch his skilled fingers peel cables, in love with the movement of his joints. Caesar’s skin was nearly perfect, if not for the flesh of his palms. His hands kept him flawed due to the work they did, having collected calluses and old wounds in the process. The backs were no better. Some of his nails were streaked by splinter hemorrhaging, and his knuckles were pink where he’d suffered his most recent clumsy scrape. Still, Gatlocke had never seen a pair of hands more attractive than his. When they stopped moving, he nearly found himself disappointed if it hadn’t been for a light stroke he felt at the back of his neck.

He shuddered, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing from the attention.

“Better things... Yes, I agree.” Caesar said, patting his knee in invitation. “Why don’t you come over here?” 

Without hesitation, he inched closer until he was in his lap and dropped his cheek onto his shoulder. Caesar waited for him to get settled, rubbing him softly between the shoulder blades. Having temporarily alleviated Gatlocke’s boredom, he continued working, his arms winding around him.

“I know that, for a man of your caliber, stripping wire would be nothing to you.” Caesar commented. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere...” 

“I did not say it to flatter you really, but you’re welcome. I mean that if you helped me, I would probably be finished faster. When I am done, then I would be all yours for the afternoon. I could even tell Dr. Holiday so that it counts toward your community service.” 

“That so? Sleeping with Providence staff earns me my good boy points now?” He grinned, wiggling his brows. He owed his partial freedom to Providence’s new Reform Program. As it went (or so he’d heard), most of their prisons were at maximum capacity. The solution they had come up with was to attempt rehabilitating qualifying criminals. Many were being given a second chance, but that was only once they completed a year’s worth of work, and only if Dr. Rebecca Holiday believed they showed considerable improvement. For Gatlocke, this meant he spent many of his hours doing menial chores, or looking for ways to shirk his responsibilities.

“Ah, no.” Caesar chuckled. “That is not what I meant. I will tell her strictly about you assisting me with these cables.” 

“It’s so much more fun watching you though.” Gatlocke stated.

“Querido, I’m afraid that I cannot keep up with you. I thought you said that you were bored.”

“Painfully so...” He confirmed. “But I like watching your hands. They’re handsome.”

“‘Handsome?’” He repeated, cocking his head. “You say the oddest things… Such a specific feature to be attracted to.” 

“I’m not attracted to hands. Just yours.” He corrected, reaching out to grab Caesar’s wrist. He brought it toward himself and held it close, using the tip of his prosthetic index finger to trace the inside of his hand. The metal digit slid over the lines of his palm and all the scar tissue it found there.

“I cannot see why. There is not much special about them.” Gently, Caesar twisted his wrist out of his grip, taking a hold of Gatlocke’s instead. He brought it to his lips and kissed one of his silver knuckles. “I actually prefer yours. They’re works of art, whereas anyone can have hands such as mine.”

Flustered, Gatlocke felt a rush of heat flood his face. Logically, he knew that he could not really feel Caesar’s mouth, but for a moment he felt like he actually could. It was only a trick of the mind, a little bit of longing that made the imagined sensation vivid. He wanted it to be real. 

He wanted to say that there were different forms of art too. Caesar’s skin was also art, his hands like a canvas splattered purposefully with paint. He couldn’t tell him as much because his thoughts began to run into each other, making it difficult to put sentences together.

Caesar snorted, trying unsuccessfully to hide a laugh. “Your face is so red… How cute. My Gato becomes a shy gatito when he is paid compliments, is that it?” 

" _Gatito_ ?” He choked out indignantly. It was bad enough he had to play the part of Providence’s boot shiner. He couldn’t think of a better way to further ruin his image than to be called such a sickeningly cutesy nickname. He snatched his arm back. “Don’t call me _that_.” 

This time, Caesar did not bother holding back laughter, returning once again to his work. With their conversation ended, he became reabsorbed in what he’d been doing prior to being interrupted.

Watching him was not enough this time, as if their closer proximity only worsened his discontent. Boredom began to creep its way back into his system. He occupied himself by listening to Caesar breathe, resting his ear back onto his shoulder. 

Nosing against the crook of his neck, he pressed kiss after small kiss against his skin, trailing them to his collarbone where his tongue lightly swept out to taste. His metal hand pushed beneath his shirt, roaming up his chest.

Caesar stiffened under his touch, reaching up to still his hand. “Okay. I am starting to think now that this was, maybe, a bad idea...” 

“Nonsense.” He scoffed and continued mouthing against his throat. “When d’you ever have one of those?” 

“You are distracting me.” 

“A sign if I ever saw one.” He muttered low, kissing him beneath the jaw. “You should take a break...” 

“Gatlocke…” Caesar warned, but his voice faltered when he felt Gatlocke shift in his lap. 

“Please?” Rarely did he ever plead for anything. Everything about Caesar was just so bloody worth begging for. Gatlocke slipped his hand out from beneath his shirt, slapping the utility knife out of his hand. 

“Oh look, another sign. How clumsy you are...” He breathed, shifting again so his legs were on either side of Caesar, straddling his lap.

“Travieso.” Caesar chided, his nimble fingers gliding down his spine. They stopped at the small of his back, dipping under his shirt. His thumb drew circles against his bare skin and warmth pooled in the pit of Gatlocke’s stomach, simply from his touch. He rocked his hips, squirming across his knees for more friction while the other man did practically nothing. The lazy swirls of his thumb only served to tease him; quickly, the sensation became more irritating than arousing.

He stifled a frustrated sound when it wasn’t quite enough, grinding down in earnest. “You could join in too. Just so you know."

“But it is so much more fun watching you.” Caesar threw his own words back at him, a playful gleam in his eyes. 

Gatlocke scowled at him, making the other man laugh. Still smiling in amusement, Caesar reached up and cupped the back of his neck, bringing him down for a kiss. Caesar’s lips were slightly chapped, and though they had shared many kisses before, he still didn’t seem to know how to do it properly. His mouth moved clumsily against Gatlocke’s, but enthusiastically nonetheless. 

His free hand dropped to the small of his back, encouraging the rhythm of his hips by pressing him down more firmly. Caesar began to reciprocate his needy grinding, bucking his hips upward against him. His clothed erection pressed against his backside, aligning perfectly with his hips.

Caesar’s touch moved, his roaming hand feeling along his side and waist stopping at Gatlocke’s belt. He undid the buckle effortlessly. It was impressive what he could manage with only one hand. Tugging his pants open, he took his erection in hand, squeezing lightly. 

He groaned against Caesar’s mouth. It was so much better to feel his fingers than it was to watch them. There wasn’t much Gatlocke could do for himself. Metal hands weren’t quite the same. Caesar’s touch sent his hips jerking forward into the circle of his fist. His hand began gliding along his cock, but the dryness of his palm stung. Wincing, he broke the kiss briefly, pressing his palm to Caesar’s chest. 

“Ah, love. S’a bit rough.” He hissed.

His fingers paused. “I think I can remedy that." 

Abruptly, Caesar seized him by the waist and pushed him up onto the table. The lights that hung above, intended for lab specimens and other samples, were disorientingly bright when one was placed underneath them. His eyes tightened. The swift movement had taken him off guard; Gatlocke's palms slapped against the surface so he wouldn't fall backward, accidentally sending the bucket of cables spilling to the ground.

The mess didn't seem to bother Caesar, who was too busy working his pants the rest of the way off. He moved his chair closer, dipping down to kiss the hollow of his hip. Caesar gripped the base of his cock and took him into his pretty mouth. 

Warm, wet heat had him squirming again. He sucked in a sharp breath as Caesar's mouth moved along his shaft. His hips attempted to thrust forward, but his position gave Gatlocke no leverage, preventing him from moving. 

Caesar drew back, running his tongue against the head. He swallowed him down again, sucking lightly, his cheeks hollowing. Gatlocke shut his eyes, clenching his fingers against the desk. Metal squeaked, but he barely noticed. 

“Caesar…” His breathing grew shallow. 

The drag of his lips was unfair. Once again, it felt like Caesar was just trying to tease him, but then he felt the curl of his tongue against the underside of his cock. He reached up, slapping a palm over his mouth to keep from being too loud. 

Pulling off of him with a slick sound, Caesar opened a drawer at the side of his table, producing a little bottle. He also picked up the utility knife Gatlocke had knocked away and twirled it between his fingers, swiping it through his shirt. His custodial uniform was slit open vertically. 

“Encouraging me to break the dress code now? I can get a strike on my record for that. Is that your aim? To have me here forever?” He attempted to joke, but his smirk faltered when he caught the heated look in Caesar’s dark eyes. The harsh lighting didn’t help, making every detail on his face seem more pronounced. Intense. He swallowed hard, gaze straying off to the side, but the other man didn’t answer him anyway. He took Gatlocke’s chin and guided his face back toward him so that he could kiss him softly. 

Gatlocke’s shirt was shoved over his shoulders, falling away to expose more of his chest to the cool air. Gently, he was pushed to lay out against the table as Caesar’s hands brushed the stretch of scars that ran from his prosthetic’s connection port toward his pectoral before vanishing momentarily. 

The bottle of lubricant was uncapped and the clinking of Caesar’s belt filled the air. Gatlocke pushed himself up onto his elbows, wanting to watch him strip. When he caught him staring, Caesar paused and beamed sunnily at him. It made his ears warmer.

Once again, the blinding lights made him feel like he was under some sort of an examination, a strange vulnerability that he wasn’t accustomed to. Caesar’s eyes were trained attentively on his face, giving him no way to really hide.

Taking both of his metallic ankles, Caesar guided his legs up onto the table, spreading them apart.

“Hold them there for me like that.” He instructed.

He blinked a few times at the order, a foreign feeling stirring at his direction. A surge of desire ached within him. Distracted, Gatlocke was unprepared for the initial press of slick fingers nudging into him, slow and deep. Gatlocke’s breath caught in his chest, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip in order to stop a grunt.

His hand paused. “Was that not good?” 

“S’f-fine…” He assured, his breathing shuddery. 

The stretch wasn’t so painful, but rather the opposite. Caesar had used enough lubricant to ease the sting, his motions careful and ever patient with him. 

Gatlocke squeezed his eyes shut at the lazy slide, hips jolting upward when they curved unexpectedly. 

With his free hand, Caesar’s fingers splayed out against his chest, traveling down his abdomen. Pinning him down, he slipped the two digits out, trying to work in a third alongside them. He met only little resistance; Gatlocke loosened up so easily around him.

He groaned, attempting to tilt his hips up for more without success. Caesar had ensured that he was in control of the speed and maintained his steady, unhurried pace. Gatlocke’s thighs started shaking from want and the effort it took to keep his legs parted for him.

With agonizing slowness, Caesar drove three digits back in until he was at the knuckle, spreading them in opposite directions. His slippery fingers softly pried him wider until Gatlocke was having a difficult time muffling his cries.

“I know, I know.” Caesar soothed.

Raking his fingers through his own hair, Gatlocke dug them into his scalp. He fought to keep his composure, but not out of shame. He couldn’t find it within himself to be ashamed when he still thought Caesar was worth debasing himself over. He had to endure because he was only using his hand after all. He hadn’t taken his cock yet and it felt like he was struggling not to come apart already. 

Finally, Caesar drew his fingers out and grabbed him by the hips, dragging him forward. His eyes were too warm. Gatlocke felt he was burning beneath his soft stare. Tilting his head, Caesar sweetly kissed the inside of his silver knee.

"Don't…" Gatlocke gritted out.

The other man stopped. "What?"

"Look at me like…" He couldn't finish his thought, his final word left hanging. He wasn't sure what to name the look of his eyes. Gatlocke always found it difficult to speak when he was looking at him that way. He felt pinned by sentiment and intimacy each time; an erratic fluttering would begin in his chest, like a billion sudsy bubbles were trying to leave his throat. 

He didn't have to finish his sentence because Caesar did it for him. "Like I love you?"

Gatlocke made a strangled noise and threw his arm across his face, embarrassed for the first time.

"Once again, I am finding it difficult to follow you." He chuckled and pressed his lips to the arch of his knee. "You wanted my attention so badly, rubbing yourself up against me to get it like a cat. Now you have it and it's too much?"

"S'probably just the lights…" He responded, voice muffled by the crook of his arm.

Caesar made a sound of understanding. "Computer, turn off the lights." 

The room went dark.

Pulling at his wrist, Caesar pried his arm away from his eyes. It took Gatlocke’s eyes a moment to adjust. He blinked several times. 

Leaning forward, Caesar kissed his face, nose skimming against his cheek bone. "For the amount of time you spend looking at me, I think I am owed the same courtesy, don't you?" 

It was much easier to face him without the hard spotlight on them. Still, Gatlocke fought the urge to fidget. "You can do more than just look."

"Is that your way of asking me to touch you?" He smiled affectionately. "I won't keep you waiting any longer."

The tip of his cock pressed against him, steadily working passed the rim. Caesar was resisting the temptation to simply slam into the clench of his ass. As if to test his self control, tiny half-moans were exhaled hotly near his ear. The pleased little sounds Gatlocke stubbornly bit off made it difficult to restrain himself when he wanted nothing more than to fuck them out of him.

The incessant slide didn’t seem to end. Caesar’s grip was tight on his hips, dragging him forward. It felt like he was being split so maddeningly slow around his shaft. Gatlocke scratched at the back of his military flak jacket as he was gradually filled. 

“Caesar! Please, _Please._ I need--” 

Ignoring him, Caesar pushed forward at his preferred pace until he bottomed out. With a quiet groan, he stopped and took a moment to enjoy the way Gatlocke writhed beneath him, his body tightening and releasing around him.

“Fucking hell… _Move_ already.” Frustration leaked into Gatlocke’s tone.

Caesar’s fingers brushed his cheek. “We do not have to rush through everything.”

His hips began to move in long, controlled, measured thrusts, but the pace was still not what Gatlocke needed. Huffing, he arched demandingly toward him, attempting to meet his strokes to no avail. 

“Now you are testing _my_ patience.” Caesar let out a short chuckle, gritting his teeth at the needy little twists beneath him. Breaking his careful rhythm, Caesar forcibly snapped his hips forward. The angle of his thrust struck a sensitive spot within him and Gatlocke finally went still, stunned by the hot pleasure that shot through his veins. 

"Have I finally found a way to quiet you?" He whispered into Gatlocke's ear, his voice strained, but he did not allow him the opportunity to catch his breath or speak. He rammed into him again and again, fucking him roughly into the lab table. Gatlocke sunk his teeth into his shoulder, whining low, his fingers clenched and trembling against Caesar’s shoulder blades.

His grip on Gatlocke tightened, drawing out nearly all the way. Caesar hissed at the way his body clenched around him, trying to take more of his shaft. All at once, he rutted back into him, forcing his cock down to the hilt. 

“Oh god, I’m--” Gatlocke whimpered senselessly into his shoulder, flushed red all the way down to his neck. It was endearing. Caesar still found it cute to see him without his overconfident arrogance. How he melted under his touching and kissing. 

Caesar turned his head to press an open mouthed kiss to his temple, keeping his lips there. Unrelenting, he made sure that each drag of his cock was searing, repeatedly driving in at the same angle. 

“Caesar, don’t stop. Don’t. _Fuck.”_

The slam of Caesar’s hips made Gatlocke’s legs tremble with the strain of keeping them splayed apart. They gave out, his metal heels scraping against the surface of the work table. His hips twitched once before he came messily between them.

Caesar did not stop. He only paused to hook his slack legs over his elbows and grinded back into him. Each piercing slide made it difficult to think, jolting pleasurably through his system. Gatlocke’s lips fell open soundlessly, his head tilting backward. Once again, he had to keep his palms over his face to keep from being too loud.

The closer Caesar was to his own release, the less controlled he was-- the rougher he handled him. His hips jerked forward viciously, jaw clenched tight as he spilled into him, filling him with his cum. Gatlocke groaned, pulling his hands away from his face. He stared up dazedly at the ceiling, attempting to regulate his breathing. They remained that way for a moment, silently waiting for the flood of sensation to subside.

Gatlocke winced a bit at the sudden movement he felt when Caesar pulled himself away. He pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his lower back while the scientist looked through the lab drawers.

“Your table’s awful, Caesar. Couldn't you've been more optimistic when furnishing?”

Taking a cloth out, Caesar wiped the mess between his thighs, cleaning him up.

"Optimistic?" He questioned, bemused. “Unfortunately, I had no hand in planning the layout. I only work here, and even if I did choose the table, I have doubts that we used it as the designers intended."

“Yeah. Didn’t really do my back any favors.” He pouted.

“You should be more careful about what you ask for then." Caesar kissed him once before taking a step back to redress. "Anyway, I don't think I would have ever possesed the foresight to plan for you."

"I am choosing to take that as a compliment."

"And yet, when I do actually mean to praise you, you cannot look me in the eyes." Caesar shook his head. Mindful of the fact that he destroyed Gatlocke’s shirt, he removed his jacket and held it out to him. 

Gatlocke’s hand faltered, hesitantly accepting it. He tugged it on and slipped off of the table, allowing Caesar to clean off his workspace and gather the bucket of cables that had crashed onto the ground. He lingered by the chair until Caesar settled himself back into his seat and pulled him back into his lap without giving him the chance to pull on his pants. 

“No more distractions.” Caesar warned, but his tone was light and there was good humor in his eyes.

Since he didn't have the energy to do much else, Gatlocke behaved himself for once. He rested his ear against his neck, lazily watching the motion of his hands. 


End file.
